


Migraine

by Master Thief (lucid_lies)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, M/M, Male Slash, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slash, Survival Horror, Walkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucid_lies/pseuds/Master%20Thief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world broke, everything went to shit and now coming across something as simple as a bag of chips is a commodity. You can't survive on your own, safety in numbers and all that. You either thrive or die. Nik's never been very good at survival -- or being a team player -- even before people went crazy and started snacking on each other. He thinks he's done alright so far on his own but he knows the time will come when having someone watch his back will be the deciding factor in whether he lives to see another day or not. Enter Woodbury. Exit one psychotic leader and a horde of homeless survivors. Enter Rick Grimes' posse and their mystical prison castle. Hopefully this time, things will actually work out.</p>
<p>
  <i>Yeah, right. Well, a guy can dream, can't he?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i've got a migraine and my pain will range from up, down and sideways

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [Nik Pearce](http://fangirlish.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/dylan.gif) | [Carl Grimes](https://31.media.tumblr.com/7852d31fac0c3e1ec3eee7ebf19bacd4/tumblr_inline_ngwb3efznW1skx1cn.gif)  
> 

**BEHIND MY EYELIDS ARE ISLANDS OF VIOLENCE**  
 **I BEGIN TO ASSEMBLE WHAT WEAPONS I CAN FIND**  
 **'CAUSE SOMETIMES TO STAY ALIVE YOU GOT TO KILL YOUR**  
 **_D N I M_**

**Chapter 00**

His momma - bless her rotten, flesh eating corpse - always said that when true tragedy strikes, you’re hyper aware of everything. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed, you always remember that exact moment with startling clarity. Her example was always the day the Challenger blew up - standing outside in the sticky Florida heat with the rest of her classmates, watching it fizzle and burn. Nik’s example, well...the end of the world must have been pretty damn tragic because he remembers that day everyday, like it’s happening right before his eyes, over and over on an endless flash-loop.  
  
The voices and memories get so bad, sometimes he doesn’t know if he’s awake or still sleeping -- if he gets any sleep, that is. He can still hear the screams, the moans, remembers the chaos and hysteria. Hell, he even remembers old Mr. Leonard chomping on Betsy, the local stray cat. Now, let it be said that he isn’t exactly the picture of perfect mental health. But to be honest, he doesn’t really think anyone can claim to be nowadays. The world’s fucked and so are the people, going together hand in hand like a cheap two-for-one deal. Though he’ll admit he’s just slightly more unhinged than others.  
  
It’s the worst when it’s silent. That’s when the voices get loud, blaring through his skull like a blow horn, rushing over his own thoughts and smothering them. So, he tries his best to make sure it’s never completely silent. He does anything to make noise, tapping his fingers or his foot. Any type of sound helps take his mind off the Pandora's box waiting to be opened in his head.  
  
He kept to himself at Woodbury, and now that the Governor turned out to be a psychotic tyrant, he holes up in the prison. Other people never stop talking and he’s already got enough voices tumbling around in his head without adding them to the mix. He drowns them all out by throwing everything he has into the chores; helping Carol in the kitchen, helping Glenn and Maggie with the fence, helping Hershel by playing nurse. He does it all, swift and silent.  
  
And by the end of the day, if he’s so exhausted that he crashes into dreamless slumber, well, he doesn’t complain. Actually, he’d say it was a good day.  
  
Now if only people disliked him as much as he dislikes them, everything would be peachy keen.

 


	2. thank god it's friday 'cause fridays will always be better than sundays 'cause sundays are my suicide days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there. This is chapter 01 and I honestly don't know how I feel about it. I very well might delete it and re-write it. For anyone that doesn't know, H1N1 is Swine Flu. There was a pandemic a few years ago that everyone in my town was freaking out about.
> 
> Not much happens in this chapter, it's more just to establish Nik's character and his place in the prison. I know he's kind of mean to Patrick and everything but there's a specific reason for it which will be revealed later.
> 
> Warnings for violence and swearing.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy.

**Chapter 01**

The problem with the world ending was that no one really knew what would happen. It wasn’t like a tidal wave sweeping across the nations and decimating towns. If it had been, Nik bets a lot more people would be alive right now. At least with a tidal wave or other natural disaster, people have warning signs. They can evacuate or prepare themselves.  
  
When the world ended it wasn’t something tangible. There was no time to prepare, to escape. Everything was fine and then it wasn’t which is the real kick in the balls because no one was expecting it. The losses just piled up one after another. After all, there’s no way to stop a pandemic. It’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.  
  
Sure, leading up to the outbreak there had been reports of people getting sick on a global scale, suffering from strange symptoms but that was the extent of it. Most people thought it was just another disease like H1N1. A cure would be found and everybody would continue on with their lives.  
  
The sky didn’t catch fire, the waters didn’t turn red with blood. And maybe that’s why it was so terrifying because the day the world ended, it wasn’t in a storm of hell-fire. Instead, it ended in a hail of gunfire and bullets and blood on what was supposed to be a perfectly ordinary day like any other.  
  
He’d gotten up for school like he did every day, moving sluggishly around and bumping into things after pressing the snooze button a million times, trying to muster up enough energy to get somewhat composed before driving to class. After struggling into his clothes, he’d gone downstairs, expecting to see his mother humming to herself in the kitchen, bent over the stove cooking breakfast.  
  
Instead, he’d walked into a horrific freak show. The front door was busted wide open, hanging off its hinges. Bright pools of blood trailed into the kitchen, seeping into the cream carpet his mother obsessively cleaned. Bloody hand prints were smeared across the wall like a macabre version of a kindergarten painting.  
  
He’d gulped, called out a shaky, “Ma?” and shuffled over to the kitchen doorway. To this day, Nik’s regretted ever going into the kitchen. That was the beginning of the end and he wishes he’d just ignored the signs, continued on his way to school - though in the back of his mind he knows that no matter what, he’d still have looked. Perhaps if he had ignored the worry, he wouldn’t be as messed up as he is now. But who knows, maybe that wouldn’t have changed anything at all. It happened and he has to live with the memories that rattle around in the back of his mind, waiting for him to relive every second in slow motion.  
  
The image of his mother - she always had the softest hands and said the sweetest things - violently tearing into his baby brother’s throat with her mouth and hands, swallowing large bitten off chunks is seared into the back of his eyelids. His ears still ring with the screams of pain, the wet sobs as his brother chokes on his own blood.  
  
He’d stumbled back in horror, letting out a loud shout. Her blonde head had snapped up, pinning him to the spot with a look of unbridled fury. When his head gets too crowded at night, it’s all he sees peering back at him from the darkness. He doubts he’ll ever forget the dead, soulless look in her eyes or the hungry twist of her opened maw that dripped with blood. He still catches whiffs of the putrid, decaying stench of her flesh.  
  
Nik had pressed himself against the wall with a whimper, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible. He’d heard the gurgled whine, watched in horror as blood poured from the gaping bite on his brother’s neck, spurting across the tiles with every beat of his heart. His mouth had kept moving like he was trying to say something.  
  
He’d fumbled for the phone in his pocket, never looking away from the beast that used to be his mother, all while trying to reassure his little brother - or was it himself? - that he was going to be fine. A rushed, “F-Fuck, just...just stay still Connor, I’m - I’ll call an ambulance, just stay still, I’m gonna get you help” had tumbled from his mouth.  
  
He hadn’t gotten very far, barely tapping out the first one, a sticky whisper of “Nik, run” his only warning before his mother pounced. She’d fallen on him like a wild animal, gnashing her teeth and clawing at his clothes. He’d tried to fight her off but only ended up tumbling to the floor.  
  
She’d snarled angrily, her breath hot and rancid in his face as she tried taking a chunk out of his cheek. The only reason she hadn’t bitten him then was because he’d wedged his forearm against her sternum, trying desperately to keep her at bay without hurting her.  
  
He’d screamed and yelled, hoping she’d see reason and stop attacking him so he could get Connor the medical attention he needed. Nothing had worked. His pleas had fallen on deaf ears. His screaming had only antagonized her and she continued in her assault, throwing her entire body forward like a rabid dog. It was like all she’d been able to think about was gorging herself on his flesh.  
  
Months later, he’d realize that had been the case. When he finally knew what was going on, he knew he’d become nothing but her next meal ticket. That particular thought always led to dark places he couldn't escape, so Nik always tries his best to ignore it. Surviving is a whole lot easier when he pretends that she didn’t try to eat him after tearing Connor apart.

In the end, self preservation won over any feelings of kinship and he’d brought up his foot, kicking her back with all his might. She’d flung back, slamming into the stairwell. He’d used his chance and scuttled up on trembling legs.

He’d taken a moment to look at Connor who lied bleeding out on the kitchen floor, his little body surrounded by a sea of red. Nik had known then that his brother was close to death, there was no saving him. So he’d done the only thing he could do.  
  
With a choked, “I’m sorry” he’d darted out of the house, the sound of his mother snarling after him ringing in his ears. Nik doesn’t really think he’s ever stopped running since then. If not physically, then mentally. Nothing has ever been the same since that day and nothing ever would be again because that was just the beginning of his Hell on Earth.  
  
A couple months later, enter Woodbury. Exist one crazy ass Governor, a couple walkers, and a horde of now homeless survivors. Then enter the one responsible for it all - a Rick Grimes - , his posse of hard asses, and the mystical, magical prison they live in. Say hello to the new homestead. It's been a few months since the prison became his new  _home_  and while he doesn't like the close quarters, it's still better than Woodbury even without the perks.  
  
Though it gives him a lot of time to think and he'd give anything not to. Because thinking leads to the places in his mind he keeps locked up, to all the mistakes he's made and all the dumb shit he's done. He thinks about all the what-ifs and could-have-been's like if he'd done things differently, his existence wouldn't be so crappy. If he'd woken up earlier instead of pressing snooze, maybe he'd still have his little brother beside him. Maybe his mother wouldn't have become a monster. Maybe his family would be whole and alive and with him.  
  
There's always so many maybes tumbling around inside his brain. He hates it. He's never going to know. His family is dead and gone. They're not coming back and sometimes - when the screaming voices come back - he can't help but feel like it's his fault. The blame hangs around his neck like a noose - his own personal Albatross.  
  
And all because of the insane possibilities and  _maybe's_  his mind provides. Sometimes he just wants to blow out his brain to get it to stop.  
  
But that's life now, isn't it?  
  
Either you roll with the punches or lay down and die - or in this case, you become a walker's personalized little snack pack. Nik may not be living happily, or living at all really, and he might be a bit of a coward, but he's not about to let some freak naw on his bones. If he goes out, he's going out on his terms and frankly, they haven't been met yet.  
  
He doubts this new shitty reality will ever meet them.  
  
And he guesses that's fine for now.

Prison life is simple, mind numbingly simple but that might be just what he needs. Half the time his mind is too full. Memories, voices, thoughts, everything cram together beneath the bone of his cranium. It’s nice to shut it up once in a while, it allows him room to breathe. It doesn’t make him want to swallow a bullet and turn his brain to mush.  
  
And that’s what makes him stay. This simple reality hidden behind chain link fences and heavily locked doors allows him to forget for a while. That’s more precious than anything he has left. He figures it’s strange. Back before everything ground to a halt, prison usually oppressed people, suffocated them, confined them.  
  
For him, it’s freeing. Here, he doesn’t have to think. As long as he keeps his hands busy, the radio silence from his mind is utter bliss. The only real time he has to worry about anything is at night, when shadows stretch long and dark across his cell, and the silence becomes violent. There’s not enough noise to distract him and he gets trapped inside his mind.  
  
He fears that the time will come and he won’t be able to pull himself back when the sun comes up. It’s another thing he adds to the long list of problems he ignores. He’s a fan of ignoring all your problems until they go away. He can’t find any reason not to, so he doesn’t stop.  
  
He doubts his problems will ever fix themselves so it looks like he’s in for the long haul. He’s not complaining. The less he thinks, the better for everyone, really. And today thankfully seems like one of his good days.  
  
The voices haven’t bothered him at all. He’s been able to focus on his chores - and only on his chores. He’d helped Maggie and Glenn with the fence earlier, clearing away the buildup of walkers overnight. Hershel didn’t need too much help in the afternoon, no one had been grievously injured in the last couple of days. Rick let him off the hook, Carl taking up Nik’s job of helping with the pigs and tilling. The only thing he had left to do for today was help Carol prepare dinner.  
  
Out of all the things he had to do, Nik enjoys helping Carol the best. She never asks uncomfortable questions and she never tries talking to him unless it’s to ask him to do something or he strikes up a conversation. He thinks that she might understand, at least partially, that he just wants to be left alone.  
  
Nik’s currently cutting up an assortment of vegetables to go along with the venison Daryl brought back. He’s settled in the kitchen area of the courtyard, ignoring all the other people around him. He can hear a group of kids laughing and playing soccer; some older women gossiping at one of the tables nearby.  
  
He’s got a good rhythm going, focused on watching his hands work that he doesn’t notice when someone settles in front of him, waiting for him to look up.  
  
A couple of minutes pass by like this until the clearing of a throat makes Nik aware that there’s someone else besides him in the area. He glances up from beneath his lashes, pausing his work so he doesn’t accidentally cut off a finger.  
  
When he sees the thick black glasses and gawky face peering back at him, he bites back a curse. The only outward appearance of his displeasure is a small furrow between his eyebrows. He fixes his stare back on the veggies and continues cutting, refusing to say a word.  
  
Patrick shuffles in front of him, clearly uncomfortable at being so blatantly ignored. He ruffles a hand through his hair and shoots Nik an uneasy smile.  
  
“U-Uhm, hey there, Nik,” Patrick stutters. “H-How are you doing?”  
  
Silence follows his question.  
  
“I see you’re busy…” His voice trails off.  
  
 _“Yeah, shouldn’t that tell you to piss off?”_  Nik thinks sourly, slamming the knife through the carrot with more force than necessary.  _“Some of us actually have to do shit around here, Four-Eyes.”_  
  
Instead of taking the hint, Patrick continues the one-sided conversation. Nik starts getting more and more agitated with the kid’s yammering until he finally just stops listening completely. He shuts himself away, focusing on going through the motions of his hands and the sound of the knife thudding against the table. It calms him.  
  
After that, Nik ignores the boy’s nervous chatting easily, mindlessly flicking the knife as he chops up vegetables. He can hear the gaggle of children behind them giggling, no doubt holding their hands to their faces as they watch Patrick make a fool of himself.  
  
“ - and yeah, I don’t know if you know but - but according to suicide statistics, Monday is the day most people choose to do it on.”  
  
Nik gives an unamused snort, eyes never lifting from his task and replies without a beat, “Funny, mine is Sunday.”  
  
Patrick makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. His eyes are wide behind the rims of his glasses.  
  
“W-What?” he stutters, hands flapping around uselessly.  
  
Sighing in annoyance, Nik places the knife down on the table and finally looks up at the younger boy. Patrick has a stricken expression, mouth hanging open like he can’t believe Nik just said that or responded to him. It could be either one really. Normally he never pays any attention to people when they decide it’s okay to come up and talk to him.  
  
Nik eyes Patrick coolly, mouth twitching as he raises a brow.  
  
“What are you doing over here, kid?” he asks. While it’s not totally uncommon for the others to come up and talk to him, Patrick has never shown any particular interest in talking to Nik until now.  
  
Patrick flushes, his gaze darting somewhere over Nik’s shoulder before focusing back on the older boy. He pushes the thick black frames up the bridge of his nose, awkwardly shuffling his feet.  
  
“I...wanted to talk to you?” Patrick replies, voice unsure.  
  
Both of Nik’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly touching his hairline. Even if Patrick wasn’t such a bad liar, Nik highly doubts he stopped playing soccer with Carl and co. just to come over and talk to the resident loner of their merry band of survivors.  
  
When Patrick shoots another nervous look over his shoulder, it clicks. He gets it now. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, Nik side-eyes the group of kids with a scowl. They squeal and try to pretend they’re doing something else when he meets their gaze head on.  
  
 _“Yeah, ‘cause that isn’t suspicious or anything,”_  he thinks sardonically.  
  
Patrick makes another strangled noise and Nik turns back around.  
  
“Seriously, I’ve never spoken to you before and I figured now might --”  
  
“Kid, just shut the hell up,” Nik snaps, interrupting Patrick’s spiel. A stab of irritation rolls over him at the prospect of being someone’s choice of entertainment for the evening.  
  
Patrick’s mouth slams closed with a painful sounding clink of his teeth.  
  
“They dared you to come over here and talk to me, is that it?”  
  
“Well, uh...n - yes?” he responds.  
  
“Get lost and leave me the hell alone, got it?” says Nik, narrowed gaze shooting ice at the quaking boy.  
  
Patrick nods vigorously, quickly turning tail and racing off to join the small group of kids again. They all form a semi-circle around him, whispering and shooting Nik looks from time to time.  
  
 _“Jesus Christ,”_  he thinks, rolling his eyes.  _“Can they be any more obvious?”_  
  
Picking up the knife again, he continues cutting the vegetables. Carol joins him shortly after, working on preparing the meat for dinner. Finally focused back on his task, he doesn’t see the blue gaze of one Carl Grimes watching him with a shrewd curiosity from the sidelines.


End file.
